I KNOW WHO I AM MEANT TO BE. AND BY THAT I MEAN I KNOW
WHO YOU'VE CARVED ME TO BE//
♪

02: trained dogs.

"IS SHE HOT?" Is Keith's first question, after Mamés retold the encounter.

They are all in Melanie's room, the centre of the universe. His universe. Mamés is on her desk chair, and Keith's sitting on the flab of extra wood next to the window (the only one actively listening to what he's saying, clearly). Billie's curled up in the corner of Mel's bed with a book while Mel herself is on the bed, underneath her covers using her phone.

"Yes," he thinks about the small notebook in his back pocket. The one he carries around most of the time to scribble lyrics into when he wasn't at home. It burns—hot, hot, hot— in his pocket because when he sat down on the concrete to wrestle the words into his book, his pocket universe. 'Hot' wasn't the word he used to describe Ana.

"How hot?" Keith's smile is all teeth. It slices deeply into him, bright and sharp like he knows Mamés is lying. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"You know I don't rate girls," Mamés begins swallowing thickly, looking at the lump on the bed. The lump that is Mel. The lump that hasn't spoken to him since he arrived. His gut is tight.

Keith waves him off like he's trying to swat a fly. The sun chewing its way through the curtain catches on Keith's earring making it gleam.

"Okay," he tears his eyes away from Mel and cuts his gaze to Keith's shaved head instead. "She's a nine. No, a ten, definitely a ten."

"A ten, huh?" Keith muses, his grin is back and sharper than before. "That's pretty high, although your taste can't really be trusted, can it? Seeing that you have been in love with our very own Melanie, the ugly duckling since you've been in the womb."

Mel's middle finger shoots out from under the covers, and at the same time, Mamés flings his pillow at him feeling his cheeks burn. Keith dodges it easily, laughing. "Yeesh, so violent." He stops suddenly as if remembering something important. "Wait, is she white?"

"She's Asian." Mamés narrows his eyes at him. "Probably Chinese, her last name is Wang."

Keith's face falls, the gleam in his eyes going out like a light. "There goes my boner." He puts his two fingers at the corner of his eyes and stretches it upwards until his eyes are little slants. "How is this attractive?" He stretches his eyes further for emphasis. "I only do white girls."

Jesus.

The room is drenched in terse silence. All the blood drains from Mamés's face and he can feel his face screwing up. Ashen and ugly. Like Keith's inside, like his words.

Mamés opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Billie beats him to it.

"You're disgusting," her voice is quiet thunder. Her brown eyes narrow into slits. "And racist."

"How am I racist?" Keith asks loftily. "It's not a crime to have a type. Besides, Mamés is black. You don't see me complaining."

His chest is tight. He can feel his heart thudding, pressing into his rib cage.

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and while it does Billie glances at him, like she is waiting for him to speak. To put Keith in his place. But Mamés is quiet. Keith isn't complaining...and he doesn't want him to. God, he doesn't want him to. So he lets his dignity and his blackness pool neatly at his feet.

When Mamés finally speaks his voice is weak and his words are hollow. "Just leave it. Most girls aren't interested in stupid white boys anyway."

"Hey," Keith says, in indignation. "Now, who's being racist—"

"For fuck's sake." Mel snaps, sitting up finally joining the conversation—and ending it, abruptly. "Can you guys, shut the fuck up?"

They all fall silent, obedient, like a pack of wolves listening to its alpha.

"I have had a splitting headache all morning," she grits out. "And all you guys can talk about is some girl? I looked her up, by the way, this Anastasia Wang—" she spits the name out in annoyance, "—and there weren't any hits. She's probably some college student that came to the middle of nowhere to make some shitty film for her project. So, can we end this?"

And just like that, the topic is finished. Billie goes back to her book, Keith pulls out his phone and Mamés's eyes never leave Mel.

To be fair she's looking at him too, glaring actually, it makes his stomach turn inside out. "You texted me. Something about getting me yoghurt but here you are empty-handed."

He takes a sharp intake of breath. Dealing with Mel's anger never gets easier. She's a lot of a person—so there, here, everywhere and overwhelming. A heavy weight constantly on his chest but as painful as it is he wouldn't be able to stand it if the pressure was gone. The era before Mel, when he spent his days with his face buried in the ground, pinned down by heavyweight boots on his back.

"I'm sorry," he starts quickly. His apology is sincere but it comes out rehearsed even to his ears. "Let me make it up to you."

Pause. Her blue eyes perk up a fraction and he holds his breath. "I'm listening."

"Brunch," He says. "Jackie is still out of town. That means you haven't had a home-cooked meal in weeks."

"Bribing me with food again?" she asks, shaking her head. Despite her dull answer, her mouth slants upwards. "Okay, I'll bite."

Mamés' relief crashes down on him, swift and unexpected. Sometimes he forgets that Mel is his best friend. No matter what shit she throws at him, she loves him the way no one can.

"Okay," he claps his hands and stands. "I guess I'll head to the kitchen."

Billie's head lifts. "Wait, Mamés is cooking?" Her tongue darts out wetting her lips. "I was going to head to the library but maybe I'll stay for a little while?" She mumbles softly as if talking to herself but they can all hear her.

"You might want to wipe the drool on your face, Bill." Keith rolls his eyes and stands. "I'm outta here, see you mongrels later."

He opens the window, gives a last two-fingered salute, and jumps out.

"I hate when he does that," Mel brittles. "Why can't he go through the door like a normal person? My mom has started nagging about the tree again."

"I'll wait for you downstairs," Billie says. She looks at the window Keith jumped out and shakes her head, mumbling softly. "I'll take the stairs."

A small laugh springs out from his mouth and when Mel joins him an arrow tears through his heart.

Mel rolls out of bed when the door shuts behind Billie, leaving them alone together.

It's funny. Funny how much of a difference it makes. Now that the steel rods of anticipation and dread have been delicately plucked out by her sharp tenses and milky teeth. It's funny how easily he can breathe now. He sucks in a huge breath, almost like an apology to his lungs. Sorry, my dudes.

"Get up," she says. "I think you're sitting on the shirt I want to change into."

He obeys with a grumble throwing himself on her bed instead. He buries his face into her pillow drowning the noise of changing behind him with the lingering smell of her orange-scented shampoo.

"What should I make?" He speaks into the pillow.

It takes a moment for her to answer. "That thing you wanted to make last time, um, the cheese thing. What's it called?"

"Cheese bread dumplings?" he offers.

"Yes, that's the one," she snaps her fingers. "Okay, I'm done. Let's go."

When he turns he catches the sight of her tan midriff right before she pulls her shirt down. The sight makes his throat go dry and he feels something ricochets around his stomach.

Mel stands in front of her full-length mirror. She looks this way and that way, checking all her symmetries and angles. Suddenly, she sucks in a sharp breath, tucking her tummy in and gives herself another critical look before breathing out.

She's been mostly ignoring his heavy gaze but now her eyes shift and their retinas clash in the mirror. There's a brief moment of stillness in the air. Mamés swallows with difficulty.

The air shifts again and she mouths, silently to him. "I'm so fat."

Mamés exhales through his nose. His mouth opens, releasing his soundless reply. "Who cares?"

You're beautiful.

Mel shakes her head in response but he catches the slight twitch of her lips. Even though it's followed after with an eye roll. It doesn't make his heart thump any softer.

◒

Mamés has a hard time pinpointing the exact moment he fell in love with his best friend, Melanie Hart. But if he had to go back, retrace his steps, and find out when he slipped into a mere trope. It would probably be on his seventh birthday.

Even though it was his party Lulu had taken it upon herself to invite literally all the kids in town including his personal bullies. He only had a handful of people he knew well enough to call friends. All the unfamiliar faces irked him and it didn't help that they didn't know him as much as he didn't know them. All he heard all day was 'It's Mama's boy's birthday'. 'Mama's boy' this, 'Mama's boy' that.

Back then parenting to Lulu meant taking him everywhere she went. Everywhere. Mel used to be the only one that called him Mama's boy because he was never far away from her. And he didn't mind, she never said it like it was a bad thing. She was crooked-tooth Mel and he was Mamés the Mama's boy. It was fine until everyone else joined in.

He was fed up by the time it was time to cut the cake. When a kid who looked way too old to be at his party told him to empty his pocket he agreed to ditch at Mel's request and followed her to the bridge above the creek. It was better than being at the party but only by a fraction. The sun was frying him and he was miserable.

"I want to go home," he told Mel, for the umpteenth time. "My mom's going to be worried. I don't want her to cry."

Mel's mouth pinched in annoyance. "Everyone's right about you, you know. You're obsessed with your mama." The curve of her lip, the grit in her tone. She didn't sound any different from the other kids.

"Take that back," he said immediately. His voice came out shaky, like his heart and fragile ego.

"I won't," she folded her arms and gave him a hard look. An ultimatum. To stay meant submission but to leave meant total annihilation. Their friendship was still a fragile thing, but it worked well because all he had to do was follow her, and if she said 'jump', he'd ask 'How high?'.

Mamés turned his back on her for just a fraction of a second, staring hard at the sun and the creek below him. He was hot all over, brimming with sweat, blood, and indecision. Then just as he finally decided to apologise, giving up on himself. Gravity gave up on him too because suddenly he was falling off the bridge, into the creek, to his death.

They say traumatic experiences are clingy. It attaches itself to your ankles and lets the weight of the horrible yesterday disfigure your today. But Mamés doesn't remember almost dying. He doesn't remember how cold the water was. He doesn't remember how his lungs wept and how quickly he sunk. All he remembers was the sound of Mel screaming. So loud it was like she had cracked open his skull to reach him but in doing so the whole universe seeped in too. His body broke into shivers as he opened his eyes. Mel looked like a lovely nightmare weeping over his body. Her clothes were wet and soggy while her face was blotchy and red.

He opened his mouth to speak. Probably to tell her to shut the hell up. But his throat was burning and he moaned instead. She kept quiet, instantly drowning them both in silence. But it was only for a moment then she was talking again. Her words rushed out like torrents from a faucet. Something about I thought you died. I thought I was going to die too. I have never swum so hard before in my life. I want my mummy.

That's when it happened. Somewhere in the space and time between when she wrapped her wet arms around his quaking shoulders and smiled shakily. His glasses were somewhere in the water, lost. But through his distorted vision, he could see sunlight spilling from the gaps of her teeth into him. Blinding him with warmth. Something glimmered on his insides. And it steadily grew amidst the sleepovers, shopping trips, late car rides, camping trips, and movie nights. The genesis of Mel and Mamés.

He had turned into the cliché she hated. So he kept quiet until the skin holding all the I love you's cracked. One year later he kissed her in the middle of a game of tag. Her response? A punch to the base of his jaw before running away.

He still feels her rejection even now. A bitter lump he has to swallow oh so often. Why? Because Mamés doesn't know how to give up. His heart doesn't know how to forget.

Even now he remembers. He loves.

​

Mamés's favourite place to be in Mel's house (other than her bed, of course) is her kitchen. It is equipped with the heavy-duty stuff his own lacked. He remembers playing cooking here countless times—when Jackie wasn't looking—until it stopped being pretend.

He likes stuffing warm food into warm bodies.

He knows what it's like to be hungry. The memory is frayed at the edges, pieces swallowed and forgotten but he still remembers being hollow. So empty it was like he could feel his organs moving with him. Slant left and right with nothing to hold on to.

Good times.

Mel perches herself on the seat in front of him. Front row seats to the 'Mamés cooking show'. While she had no interest in cooking class she claims watching him cook calmed her down. She likes the fluidity of his movements. She likes how cooking isn't a chore for him. There isn't a whole lot of banging plates and swearing when he was in here compared to the rest of her family, especially her mother Val.

The sound of warm laughter reaches his ears as he kneads his dumpling mixture. He arches his neck to get a glimpse of the living room. Charlie and Drew, Mel's younger siblings are in the middle of some type of wrestling match while Billie is curled with a book nonplussed.

"They could start tearing each other's limbs and she wouldn't even bat an eye." He shakes his head with a small smile.

"That's why she was voted 'most likely to die first in a zombie apocalypse'."

"That's not true," he laughs. But he is already picturing it in his head. The end of the world. People running and screaming. In the grocery store: picking food, water—survival items. And then Billie with a suitcase cramming in all the books she has read and has yet to read. Because she can't survive without a story in her head.

In a way, he understands. If it was the end of the world and he had to pick between a shotgun and his guitar. He would like to say he'd pick the gun. But then he'd be lying through his teeth.

Mel's parents walk in when Mamés is frying the dumplings in the pan.

"I know I smelt something lovely," Mel's mum peers over his shoulders. "I should have known it was you."

"Don't even think about it, Mum. It's a bribe," Mel says. "And it's strictly for me alone."

"No way," Charlie complains, materialising behind Mel making her jump in surprise. "Jackie isn't back yet and I'm hungry. If I have to bear with Mum's cooking one more time. I may actually die."

"No one is stopping you," Mel rolls her eyes, annoyance mars her face. "You can drop dead right now for all I care. You aren't having any."

"Mum, do you hear her?" Charlie exclaims. "She said I should go kill myself."

Mel narrows her eyes at her. "I did not say you should kill yourself. I said I wouldn't care if you died, that's all. If you're going to tattle on me, at least get your facts straight."

"Mum?" Her incredulous cry falls on deaf ears. Val and Drew are busy trying to take a pinch of dumpling straight from the pan.

Mamés swats Val's hand as she goes for the kill and tries to steal a whole dumpling. He turns off the heat and transfers the dumpling into bowls of hot beef broth satisfied with the gold on both sides.

"That's enough, you two." His voice comes out a bit too stern. Sometimes he forgets to check his alter ego—mother hen—at the door. "I made enough for everyone."

Charlie's beam is triumphant while Mel pouts. He still can't understand their animosity with each other.

Mamés takes his seat and pretends he isn't looking at Mel. Sometimes the differences in their personality scare him. Their brains are wired differently. He spent his boyhood tripping after his mama or Mel (when she allowed him). While she spent her time with muddy boots, dirt under her nails, racing ahead (always ahead) bullying his bullies.

Charlie and Drew help set the plates as he takes his seat at the end. Billie, who has finally pulled her head out of her book, her food-radar tingling, takes a seat beside him.

"Come join us, Pat." Val takes her seat. "Mamés has made something delicious again."

Mel's dad, Patrick, is frowning when he takes his seat at the head of the table. While the wry scowl scrawled on his face is something Mamés has gotten accustomed to, it still doesn't make his presence any less heavy.

"Maybe we should just sack Jackie," Patrick muses. "And employ Mamés here full-time since he's always hanging around our kitchen and feeding us."

Everyone laughs and Mamés does too, softly, weakly. Fake. Fake. Fake.

"No thanks, Mr Hart," he speaks slowly around the glass lodged in his throat. "I could never replace Jackie or fill her shoes."

Drew says the grace, his childlike voice rings dislodging some of his uneasiness and Mamés is grateful no matter how brief the reprieve is.

"How are things going with you, boy?" Patrick asks. "I heard you quit the team. That true?"

"Not exactly," he drops his gaze to his hands. "I asked to be placed on the second string. It means less practice for me and I only get to play if someone's badly injured."

Forks cling on ceramic. Mamés shovels food in his mouth. He can feel Patrick's eyes in him like lasers, frying his already dark skin—making it darker. Uglier. Not good enough for his daughter.

"That's a shame," Patrick says eventually, in a tone that says contrary. He can taste his contempt on his tongue. "It's a shame that physique is wasted on you. It would have been better suited for someone more dedicated." More deserving.

The dumpling in his mouth swells. An explosive supernova he cannot swallow. So he chokes, looking around almost wildly. He doesn't even know what he is hoping to see. There is no reaction. Everyone is focused on their food, phone or both. Even Mel has her eyes cast downwards.

Second trickles into minutes and Charlie (bless her)  comes to his defence. "It's because he wants to focus more on his music, Dad. The YouTube channel Mamés finally made is doing pretty well."

A bushy eyebrow lifts, "Is that so?"

"Uh, yes sir." Mamés reaches for his glass but instantly drops his hand when he notices it's still trembling. "I got my first paycheck last week."

"It's amazing," Charlie says, the pride in her voice is louder than the pain in his gut. "Because he just made it like two months ago."

"It's no big deal, really. I just have a handful of subscribers, that's all."

"Stop being modest. It's still more than some people have," her gaze cuts to Mel, who stabs her fork in her food, hard.

Charlie smirks, while his stomach sinks. He doesn't care about their never-ending feud, he just wished they wouldn't drag him into it.

It's already a touchy subject for Mel and him. Mel has never been keen on the idea of Mames doing things on his own. When he told her he wanted to make music. She created a band and forced him to join. He plays the lead guitar in their ragtag band. Yes, he wanted to make music but not this way. His youtube is a fragile new thing, a little something that is only his and Mel isn't happy. Just the mention of his growing channel makes her either sulk or glower.

Today is both. The sound of her chair scraping the floor makes him feel sick. She pushes her half-eaten food away and stands. "I lost my appetite. I'm going to head out. Let's go, Billie."

Billie looks up stunned, unaware of the tension brewing. "Oh, maybe later. I'm still eating—"

Her words dry up in her throat at Mel's look and she quietly mutters, "Sure," before standing.

Mel doesn't look at him as they leave.

Silence reigns after their departure, but it feels like a grenade has gone off somewhere. Something must have exploded, surely. Or he wouldn't feel this defeated.

Charlie reaches for Mel's plate at the other side of the table. When she knocks down an empty cup in the process he decides to pick it for her instead. Their fingers brush and heat floods in her face. The sight, for some reason, makes him smile.

Maybe this is the reason he has a soft spot just for her. She makes him at least experience what it feels like to have a Hart sister pining over him.

It's just a shame it's the wrong sister.

AUTHOR'S NOTE
so what do you think of the gang??? mel, billie, keith?

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